It was a hot summer evening when a thought dawned upon me. I was browsing articles on the internet much against the notion of my family who thought that I did nothing but surf social networking websites all day long. I had never bothered to explain them, nonetheless it did leave me irritated at times.
Coming back to the thoughts that lingered in my head, I was wondering about what was it that I wanted to do. I was confused beyond doubt and it was something that nobody but myself could set right. We all have come across this point in our lives when we begin to question the meaning of our existence, the purpose of our life, whether life could ever be a fulfilling and satisfying journey. For me, this phase had lasted for about an year or so within which I had finished college, walked in and out of my job and so on and so forth. I had taken decisions – some by choice, some by circumstances. I had thought further and changed a few based on reason. I had my share of happiness and horror.
All this while a strange voice inside me kept mumbling – “It isn’t you. This straight-faced, forever tired and sick girl, can’t be you. You can’t be this way.” I heard this mumble loud and clear everytime I was alone, and each time I hushed it. It gave me jitters. It said things that I couldn’t escape and didn’t want to.
And then that summer evening I felt tired of being dull. It was boring. Being sad wasn’t my way of being. But I did not know what to do. How about locking myself up in a room and shutting all modes of communication? I tried that as well but I could only hear the don’ts. I was more interested in the do’s. With time I have realized that what not to do is always easier to know as compared to what to do. So there I was, sinking in noises, unable to hear what went inside me. I had to find a way out and I was determined to do so. With determination came ways that would help me identify myself.
I had somehow always been both bold and vulnerable and had neither known nor cared to be a particular way. I hadn’t bothered about people forming opinions about me. I never gave justifications. I was who I was. I had made mistakes just like everybody had at some point of time in their lives and I knew there was no point trying to revive the dead, buried and burnt for they had gone for once and for all.
That very day I dropped the notion of trying to be a super-woman – one who knows and does all. I accepted I was a human with scars and it was these scars that made me beautiful. I was reminded of that couplet I had read while in high school:
“Girte hain sheh-sawaar hi maidan-e-jung mein,
Who tifl kya giren jo ghutno ke bal chale.”
My follies made me a better person, compassionate and respectful. I realized that there was nothing wrong with me and I didn’t have to fit in the societal standards to please everyone. I, for sure, hadn’t been born to that. It was more important to be acceptable to myself rather than attempting to be a pink candy in a universe of heart-shaped balloons. It was alright to be happy , hurt, to cry, laugh, starve or gorge. It was alright to not fit into pigeon-holes. It was alright to be – just be! I could not let dogma determine and define me. I was unique and I accepted the uniqueness of the world around me. It was time for acceptance from within. I am precious and I don’t need a certain someone to tell me that. And with this acceptance I set myself free. I couldn’t celebrate people if I didn’t celebrate myself. Happiness began to dawn on me at dusk. It was time to embrace the sunset. How else could I sleep peacefully to welcome the morning the next day!
You, who reads this, you’re special. We are all so. Do what you’re good at. Our shoe sizes are different. We all can’t fit into the same pair of shoes.
It’s time to shine with your own light.